A Little Comfort
by Petals Open to the Moon
Summary: Something she badly needed, one emotional and lonely night. And he was all too willing to give it to her. A little fic I wrote quickly, to stem off similar feelings of despair and loneliness. After all... what can a little dreaming hurt?


"So alone," she whispered.

It was not the most pleasant of places to be in. Her bed was situated in the farthest corner of the cellar, not ten feet from the water heater and dusty storage shelves. A black TV sat, unused, in front of one of the shelves, the cord tangled up hopelessly. She might be driven to use it eventually, though she hoped not to. Her family had seldom watched television in her youth, sticking mainly to Disney VCR's and classic MGM films. There was so much desolation and needless commercialism in television, she thought. Better off without it.

"So alone..."

She shivered once, grabbing a jacket beside her on the bed. It was a warmer cellar than she was used to in previous homes. That was plus. She should be grateful for the extra warmth, not to mention the little bathroom (minus a shower) off to the left. There had been so little privacy in her old home.

Something she never thought she would regret... until now.

She breathed in deeply. "You're okay," she said softly. "You're okay." The mumbled statement only served to bring moisture to her already swollen eyes. Why was sympathy always so conducive to tears?

"I'm okay, okay?" she shouted. To no one, of course. The tears ran uninhibited now. She wrapped her arms about herself, as if trying to cage in the sobs that threatened to tear through her chest. Her asthma had been so bothersome, lately. Why on earth was she inflaming it further?

"Oh, God," she sobbed. "Can I not... can I not even _cry?!"_

Her heart was hammering against her chest now, too; beating mournfully in time to her grief. The water heater had long since stopped running, and it was quiet. So terribly, awfully quiet. She could almost hear the tears, trickling down her wet cheeks, and it maddened her.

Somewhere, upstairs, a door closed. Must have been one of her roommates returning home. Hopefully she remember to lock the door (Lord knows it wasn't a habit). The girl acknowledged the sound dimly. Her sobs had quieted. Her lungs, on the other hand, were indignant. Stumbling from the bed, she groped for her bag, lying atop a pile of tubs. She had not had time to unpack yet, much less find something to put her things away.

"Confound it," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse from crying. She yanked the small lid off the mouthpiece, setting the inhaler to her lips. Two quick puffs, and she staggered back to the bed, sucking in the renewed oxygen with relief. After a moment, her eyes opened. Grief flooded back into the hazel orbs, masking their brightness. She still had so much pain, so much anxiety left in her. But no more tears. Her body could not handle anymore. She must rest... and breathe... and try her very hardest not to think.

The door upstairs closed again. "For heaven's sake, Ana," she moaned. "Go to bed. Please..."

She turned her face into the pillow, which had mercifully been kept dry this time. The grief tugged at her fretfully, but all she could manage was a pained whimper.

"To die, to sleep..." she whispered. "To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub."

Indeed. She was not trying to be morbid. The poetry soothed her. She considered getting up again, perhaps digging for her old volume of Shakespeare in one of the tubs. Maybe in a little while. For now, she needed rest. Needed to _find_ rest.

The bed dipped suddenly, tilting her body. She flew up with a stifled scream, bashing her skull against the headboard. Her fingers groped for the lamp cord, illuminating the intruder.

"Hush," he whispered, one hand held out in front of him. "It is only I."

The scream caught in her throat, causing her to choke slightly. She covered her face briefly. "A-Aro... p-please... don't..."

He tilted his head. "Yes?"

"Don't frighten me... li-like that. Please."

"I apologize, _cara._ Please forgive me." His hand cupped her right foot, rubbing her ankle comfortingly with his thumb. "Are you all right, Fiona?"

She lifted her head. Her eyes were swollen, but to him, she looked beautiful. "I am now," she whispered, still breathing heavily. She glanced down at her foot, her cheeks turning pink. "What are you doing?"

"It is cold in here. Shouldn't you be wearing socks?" he asked, smiling a little.

Fiona gestured to the packed tubs. "They're... in there. Somewhere."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hm." His hands blurred, moving rapidly over the chilled skin of her foot. His flesh was freezing, but the friction only served to help. "Better?"

"Yes..." she said feebly.

He looked up at her. She looked so... tired. Stress emanated from her, showing not only in the taut lines of her mouth, but in the tight, anxious way she clenched her fists by her sides. He reached forward—slowly, so as not to startle her—and unclenched them both slowly. "Fiona..."

"Yes, Aro?"

His hands slid past her fingers, her tiny wrists, her elbows... resting with warm affection on her shoulders. They felt so fragile. "What is wrong?" he whispered.

Her body tensed. "I... I don't wish... to complain."

He hushed her. "Sweet, precious Fiona... I can see that you are suffering. Please tell me what is wrong. I will listen."

Her mouth puckered, and he knew she was trying not to cry. He felt he would himself, in another minute. But true tears were one of the many things denied to his kind. He shifted his cold body, sitting beside her at the front of the bed. His jacket and velvet travel cloak protected her from his body's natural chill, though he could not resist stroking her sad, sweet little face. "Tell me?"

She paused. When she spoke, it was a whisper, as if she couldn't bear to hear too much of her personal pain said aloud. "I am tired. My asthma is better, but I'm just... just worried. It has been a hard week." Her thin shoulders shivered, and she leant against him, her head on his chest. "I bring it on myself, Aro. That is all. I worry too much."

"Everyone worries, Fiona," he said softly. "It is part of life. Even for immortals."

"I know." He felt her tense again; holding back the tears. Pushing away the pain. He kissed the top of her head. "Does it help to talk about it?"

"It does." Her tiny hand moved up his chest timidly, resting on his other shoulder. "The problem is... I'm like a balancing scale. I cannot balance everything out in my life, because everything just seems to build up without my noticing it. Then, over time, all the bad things outweigh the good, but I don't know how heavy the one side is, because I've been pushing all the stress away from me. Afraid to face it."

She touched her forehead, as if in pain. "And then… _then _the tiniest thing, the most insignificant problem will happen, and I break." She smiled sadly. "The scale tips over. I have let my troubles outweigh my joys yet again."

"Do you ever right the scale?" he asked quietly.

She paused. "I-I _think _I do. I dry my tears. I pick myself up again." She pulled away from him suddenly, reaching for a Kleenex by the side of the bed. Her face was wet again, he noticed. "It's a stupid metaphor, Aro. But it's what I think of, every time." She wiped her nose, looking at the comforter on the bed dismally.

"Fiona," he whispered.

She turned her head, looking at him. He smiled sweetly at her. "Did you merely need a listening ear, my love, or are you accepting opinions?"

She smiled, and it was happier this time. "I always want your opinion, Aro."

"I'm flattered, _angela." _He found her tiny hand, holding it gently in his own. "I do not think it is a stupid metaphor, Fiona. It makes a great deal of sense, actually. Your 'balancing scale,' as you put it, is like anyone else's. Your struggles may be different, but they are still important, in the way they affect you." His voice softened. "I do not, however, think you are 'righting the scale' every time."

She stared up at him. "But—"

He pressed a finger to her lips. "Yes, you _are_ recovering each time. It is only necessary, to live. But you are not facing your problems, Fiona." He looked back at her, his eyes sad but serious. "You are merely pushing them to the side, out of the way. But they are still there."

He watched her face fall slightly, and a sharp little pain darted through his breast. He reprimanded himself quickly. She was still so vulnerable, like this. Had he been too harsh? Had he—

"You're right," she said suddenly.

_You don't have to try and please me, Fiona. Say what you feel. _

"You're right," she repeated, as if hearing his thoughts. The delicate skin between her eyebrows puckered thoughtfully. "I've evaded everything for so long… it's no wonder I fall so hard every time."

"Is that what you feel?" he asked gently. "Don't let me dissuade you, love."

She hugged her arms around his neck. "No, no. I agree with you. Trust me." He felt her sweet breath in his ear. "But… how do I face them? Won't that cause even more stress? How do I do it?"

Aro closed his eyes, holding her close. "The same way you live each day, Fiona. One small step at a time."

"Is that how you do it?" she whispered.

"I have a greater lifespan, my love. We have more time to heal." _Or sink deeper, _he thought, remembering his brother, Marcus. He kissed Fiona's soft cheek, pushing away the thought. "You need to sleep."

She laughed. "Why on earth would I want to sleep? I'm just starting to feel better."

He chuckled with her. "You would feel even better with adequate rest."

"Humbug," she muttered, burrowing her face in his neck. His chuckle faded into a velvety purr of enjoyment. He shifted her body in his arms, lying her down gently. He stretched out beside her, pulling the warm quilts over her.

She grumbled again. "I'm _not _sleeping, Aro!"

"You will if I say so," he teased. His lips brushed her ear, sucking gently at the tender skin until she moaned. "And I can be very… _persuasive." _

A small yawn caught halfway between another moan. He chuckled. She was so perfectly adorable. He held her as close as was practical, making sure her body temperature was warm enough at all times.

She yawned again, her fingers curling into the pillow as she rolled onto her back. He resisted the urge to trace her pretty lips with his tongue, contenting himself instead with stroking her forehead. "Perhaps I shall stay a few days longer this time," he said thoughtfully. "Ensure all your demons are put to rest, hm?"

Her sleepy eyes lit up. "I would love that, Aro."

He grinned. "I love how you say my name."

She rolled her eyes, yawning slowly. "Dani… she says I say it wrong."

"You are fine, love. And her pronunciation is just as charming. She adds a little accent to it, the darling girl. It makes me feel very… exotic."

He tossed the hair back from his face, affecting a posh expression that made Fiona laugh. He gave her a playful glare, which only increased her giggles. Several minutes passed, and her body calmed further, shoulders rising and falling slowly. Aro would have thought her asleep, if not for the slightly rapid thrum of her heart.

"Did you mean it?" she asked suddenly. Her eyes were open, looking at him anxiously.

"Did I mean what, precious love?"

"Staying for a few days."

"Of course." He kissed her, smiling. "Like I said, I want to calm your fears for awhile. See what it is, I suppose, that causes this little scale to tip over."

"Tiny things," she mumbled.

"Like stubbing your toe?"

She gave him a look.

"Moving to a new place?"

She thought for a moment, then closed her eyes. "Well, that's not really a _tiny_ thing."

He smiled softly, kissing her again. "No, I suppose not." She had such a pure, sweet taste. The scent of her tears was exquisite, also, though he would have willingly given it up to spare her such pain. He brushed the moisture of her lashes with his lips, being extra careful.

She mumbled something.

"What was that, _piccola?" _

"Stay with me." she whispered.

"That's why I came," he whispered back.

A blissful smile spread over her features, causing his dead heart to lift slightly. He bent again, intending to kiss her lips, then paused when she opened her eyes. "Is Dani okay?"

Aro's expression softened. "Yes, my little one."

"When did you visit her, again?"

"I was with her yesterday."

Fiona's voice was barely a soft breath, but he heard her clearly. "She… loves you. So very much…"

"Ah, but do I deserve it?" He grinned at her indignant pout, finally stealing the kiss he wanted. Her lips were tangy honey, the salt of her dried tears only adding to his pleasure. "Smile, my love. You are so beautiful when you smile. Yes, I visited her, and she was quite... ecstatic." He grinned, remembering Dani's warm, loving arms, wrapped around him almost the instance he entered. "She was in some pain, due to her neck, but I hope my presence helped somewhat." He rubbed Fiona's forearm. "She sends her love to you, as well."

"Mm…" She smiled, her consciousness slipping. Aro kissed her face all over, his caresses too gentle to awaken her. It amazed him, as always, how she clung to him, even in rest. Dani was much the same way. Attracted to the cold, dead state of his being, and yearning for it… even as he yearned for their warm bodies and tender, human expressions.

"Rest well, little one," he whispered. "I love you."


End file.
